


Piano Man

by Della19



Series: Pretty Gentleman [2]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: AU, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-13 23:44:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3400595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Della19/pseuds/Della19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>To say that Harry’s first thought upon seeing Eggsy at the police station was how perfectly lovely  he’d look spread out on Harry’s sheets would be a lie.  Harry, after all, is a gentleman; first and foremost, he thought of Eggsy as a young man with great potential, and of his wish to honour his father’s sacrifice and cultivate said potential.</p><p>That his second thought upon seeing him were the sounds Eggsy would make while Harry fucked him is really besides the point.  The Pretty Woman quip really was quite revealing, in retrospect.</p><p>Or, the one where there is fucking on a piano. Harry/Eggsy, PWP.  Second in my Pretty Gentleman series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Piano Man

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No, to my eternal sadness, I’m afraid I still don’t own them.
> 
> Chinese translation by francesc now available at: http://www.movietvslash.com/forum.php?mod=viewthread&tid=153737

                                                                                          ***************************************

Vivian: [Sitting at a table, naked and only wearing a tie] How was your day dear?

Edward Lewis: Nice tie!

Vivian: I got it for you.

Vivian and Edward - Pretty Woman

***************************************

To say that Harry’s first thought upon seeing Eggsy at the police station was how perfectly lovely he’d look spread out on Harry’s sheets would be a lie. Harry, after all, is a gentleman; first and foremost, he thought of Eggsy as a young man with great potential, and of his wish to honour his father’s sacrifice and cultivate said potential.

That his second thought upon seeing him were the sounds Eggsy would make while Harry fucked him is really besides the point.

Or yes, it is possible that Pretty Woman reference really was quite revealing, in retrospect.

***************************************

The “popping one’s cherry,” quip was also, upon reflection, hideously transparent. A terrible failure in subtly on his part, if Harry does say so himself.

And then he runs a hand through Eggsy hair, where it rests on Harry’s bare chest as they lay in a tumble of naked, sweaty limbs.

Well, at least one cannot fault him on his accuracy.

He does make _oh so_ lovely a sight spread out on Harry’s sheets.

***************************************

When Harry thinks back to that time after his almost death, before he and Eggsy were a “they,” he is somewhat embarrassed. Harry is a self aware man; he is fifty, in good physical condition, handsome, and not without polish and charm. He is knowledgeable of the fact that he is appealing to members of the female and male sex, and practiced in the art of seduction.

And yet, he’d availed himself of all the charm of a jealous school boy when he’d sent Eggsy out as a honeypot, and when he’d watched him flirt with Lancelot and watched her flirt back. And well, Harry has no excuse beyond the fact that, for all that age means less than nothing in a business like theirs, where old bones are rarely made, Harry is still twice Eggsy’s age, and he’d rather thought it not unreasonable to assume that difference would be relevant to one in their mid twenties. Lancelot - a far more socially “appropriate” choice - it seemed to Harry at the time was making Eggsy happy, and Harry is not in the business of not practicing what he preaches; a gentleman does not intrude in matters of the heart for his own selfish gain.

When Eggsy showed up at his house, sank to his knees, wrapped that bloody cheeky mouth of his around Harry’s cock and demanded that Harry fuck his face, Harry cannot think of a time he was more pleased at being wrong before.

And really, Harry woke up in a Kentucky hospital after being quite sure he was dead, so that is saying something.

***************************************

“You told him about the iPad?” Harry inquires of Merlin the next time they are alone in Merlin’s lab, eyebrow raised, because Harry might have been rather slow to come to terms with the nature of Eggsy’s regard for him, but he most assuredly can put this together.

“You two were clearly never going to get there on your own,” Merlin drawls dryly back, looking up from his clipboard to shoot Harry a smirk, “Besides, you won me ten pounds off Lancelot - still hasn’t learned not to bet against the house.”

Occasionally, Harry wonders about Merlin’s sense of humour.

Still, he cannot say he is not correct, and he appreciates any and all help that lead to him know what it feels like to slide into Eggsy in the morning, still all wet and slick and _loose_ from the night before, and so he only smirks himself, and jabs lightly, “Cheeky bastard.”

“You’re quite welcome,” Merlin returns, reading correctly between the lines before disappearing back into whatever has his attention on the clipboard, and Harry only shakes his head fondly before he goes off and finds Eggsy and then spreads him across his desk and fucks him until he can only make small, sobbing whines, until Harry comes so hard he nearly goes blind.

And then he takes him home, and does it all over again, and life rather carries on.

***************************************

Harry can’t say he ever gave the thought of sitting in Arthur's chair any real thought. Arthur always seemed somehow larger than life - a fixture more than a man, and perhaps that’s why Harry didn’t see his betrayal until it was too late, or perhaps he simply did not wish to see it. Arthur was always a snob, and an undeniable elitist, but Harry had always thought him a good man as well. The knowledge of Arthur’s betrayal, and that Arthur had sent him to die rather quickly disabused him of that belief, and as Arthur’s death meant Eggsy life, he cannot find it in himself to regret it. Harry has Merlin and Lancelot and the rest of the Kingsmen and Eggsy; he does not miss Arthur.

Except when it comes to the sheer _mountains_ of paperwork that come associated with the position. Because for every shot on every mission their seems to be _another_ form that must be filled out, and there is quite a lot of shooting that occurs.

That he finds himself nostalgic for the days where he had to pry bullets out of his suit does not escape him.

Which is why, when he looks up at blinks at his desktop clock and finds it an hour after he’d intended to stop working for the day, Harry can not find itself in him to do more than sigh resignedly. He takes a moment to stretch, working the kinks out of his back, and then, with the memory that Eggsy spent the afternoon with Merlin testing out some new prototype, he closes up the preverbal shop for the night and makes his way off to Merlin’s lab to collect his lover for a late supper.

That he finds only Merlin hunched over a computer, a scowl on his face when he arrives is not exactly a surprise, given the lateness of the hour.

It’s also not exactly the result Harry was hoping for, and so he asks Merlin, who seems quite distracted by whatever he’s doing on his computer, “I don’t suppose you know where Galahad has gotten off to?”

“Told me to tell you he was in the southeast siting room if you came by,” Merlin says, looking up briefly at Harry, before he returns his gaze to the screen.

“What on earth is he doing there?” Harry wonders aloud, because really, whatever motivation would he have for being there? Harry cannot bring to mind exactly the southeast sitting room but he knows that it truly is just that, a sitting room, and not really a code for something else that might have a better chance of catching Eggsy’s attention.

“He neglected to mention that,” Merlin says absently, before his brogue sharpens in frustration, “Bugger it, Lancelot wasn’t bluffing.”

Harry, finally able to get a good look at what Merlin’s got on his monitor, considers mentioning that online poker is perhaps not the most gentleman like pursuit that a senior agent and their former trainee can engage in. However, given that he intends to track down his own protege and then take him home and see if he can fuck him until they both can’t remember their own names, Harry refrains.

A gentleman must never aim to be a hypocrite, after all.

“Southeast sitting room did you say?” He simply inquires again, and as he figures Merlin’s distracted, “Aye,” is the best he’s going to get, Harry takes his leave and heads off towards the southeast sitting room of all places to find his wayward lover.

Honestly, Harry wonders as he opens the door to the room, absently taking in the ornate couches and fussy little side tables, what on earth could have caught Eggsy’s interest in here?

And then Harry catches sight of Eggsy, and stops thinking entirely.

“Did you know we had a piano in here?” Eggsy drawls, teasingly slouched up against the baby grand that is central to the room, nude but for a smile and a pair of jeans that straddle the border between indecent and downright _illegal._

That Harry is no longer thinking of a hunger for _food_ is rather an understatement at this point.

And its only the sudden lack of saliva in Harry’s mouth that stops him from asking like some callow youth, _‘What piano?’_ because Eggsy looks like a rent boy that Harry could have picked up off the side of the road and charged by the hour. Harry can trace with his eyes the hairs on Eggsy’s abdomen that trail down into that defined v of his hipbones, can see the the base of Eggsy's cock, already starting to fatten up under Harry’s ravenous gaze, and he thinks if Eggsy stands in them, they might just _fall off_ , they’re so low hung.

Harry finds himself rather hoping Eggsy stands up.

In his bespoke bullet proof trousers, Harry is hard enough to drill through concrete.

“Roxy calls ‘em my ‘up and off’ jeans,’” Eggsy says teasingly, into the silence born of Harry’s lust stunned stupor, and then he bloody well _winks_ at him.

Harry tries to will some of the blood in his cock back into his brain, and reminds himself he can’t just send Lancelot to Siberia because she’s seen Eggsy in those laughable excuse for trousers.

Entirely unsuccessful in that endeavour, Harry settles instead for hooking his thumbs into the loops of said trousers and snogging Eggsy until he’s splayed over the piano, until his lips are cherry red and his cock is as swollen and hard as Harry’s own.

Staring at the picture his lover makes, sprawled over the piano, hard and _panting_ and all for him, Harry thinks that Pretty Woman reference might finally have started to pay off, so to speak.

And then Harry flips him, so he can press his cock to the curve of Eggsy’s arse, and at his teasing _whine_ , Harry gives those damned jeans the tiniest of tugs and they slide right down, baring the pert curve off Eggsy’s arse to Harry gaze.

And then Harry encounters a sight that makes him rather forget to _breathe_.

Harry can remember that first second of Valentine’s mind control - the sudden flip of a switch where he was aware that his mind was not his own, before that clarity too was stolen from him in a cloud of rage and blood.

That feeling _pales_ in comparison to the _red shift_ that runs through him at the sight of the black plastic plug nestled between the curves of Eggsy’s cheeks, keeping that pretty little hole stretched open and _loose_.

Because Harry knows that Eggsy took a little longer in the bathroom this morning, remembers like it was a thousand years ago teasing him about the length of his shower and receiving a quip about how they should just share from now on from a towel clad Eggsy. But now he knows why there was that lateness, and to realize that Eggsy spent the whole day with the plug in, sat in meetings with Harry and tested some new gadget with Merlin all the while spread _open_ and _wet_ and _ready_ for Harry?

Harry rather thinks it excuses the fact that he simply unzips his fly, frees his cock, removes the plug and fucks in, in, _in_ to the slick tightness of Eggsy’s willing arse until he bottoms out.

Eggsy’s moan, long and low and _desperate_ , seems like agreement to Harry.

And then Eggsy tilts those _oh so_ flexible hips upward, like he is impossibly trying to take in  _more_ of Harry. And at that, Harry rather lets his restraint fall to the wayside and _snaps_ his hips out and then back into that tightness, _hard_ , and fucks Eggsy like he is _begging_ to be fucked.

Who is Harry to deny his lover, after all?

The plug, laying forgotten on the keys where Harry abandoned it jolts up and down on the keys, the disjointed clangs of sound mixing with the slaps of flesh as Harry fucks into his lover at a pace that might be considered _brutal_ in another setting. But Eggsy only _wails_ his encouragement, loose and pliant spread over the piano, as Harry _plows_ into his arse, that despite being stretched open by that bloody plug is still so _tight_ and warm around the heft of his cock. And bloody hell, does Eggsy ever feel good around his cock - like a velvet sheath made just for him, muscles fluttering _helplessly_ around Harry’s cock as he angles himself to ram into Eggsy prostate in a way that makes his lover _scream_.

Harry’s balls have drawn up tight against his body, still trapped in his trousers, heavy with the release he is fighting against with every breath. Harry refuses to allows himself his pleasure before he makes Eggsy cum; wants that vice tightness around his cock when he empties into the younger man. Still, when he sees Eggsy’s hand move to fist around his own cock Harry grabs it in his own, reaching with it to hold onto the edge of the piano, spreading Eggsy like some pornographic sacrifice, never letting the rhythm of his hips falter for even a second.

Harry wants him to come from his cock, and nothing else, because he rather thinks Eggsy deserves it after this little stunt, regardless of how much Harry is enjoying it himself. Thankfully, Eggsy accommodates him, convulsing around Harry’s cock as he climaxes, painting the baby grand with his release and Harry nails him to the piano with three more punishing thrusts before he too cums with a groan, spilling deep inside his lover.

Slumped upon his lover’s sweaty bare back, Harry decides he might have misjudged the appeal of the southeast sitting room.

And then, before his weight becomes uncomfortable, Harry presses a kiss to the dip in Eggsy’s shoulder blades and makes of the business of removing himself from Eggy’s spent body. He draws out with a slowness he could not afford before, now able to be gentle, and watches with a particular satisfaction as Eggsy pretty hole _flutters_ at the loss of his cock, wet and pearl white with his cum, _claimed_ in this _oh so_ base way.

And then he picks up the plug from where it still rests on the keys, and pushes it back into that _needy_ little hole.

Harry would be a liar if he did not admit that Eggsy’s choked groan is music to his ears.

“Leave that in, go dress yourself in some real clothes, and meet me in the lobby in five minutes,” Harry says calmly, zipping himself back up into his trousers smoothly, running a casual hand through his hair, and a quick look into the mirror across the room assures him that he is entirely presentable once again, fit for civil appearance. “I rather feel like a nice, _long_ dinner out tonight.”

Eggsy’s laughter follows after him, rough and wild and just a little bit _broken_ , and Harry lets the edges of his mouth curl into a satisfied smirk as he strolls out of the room like he hasn’t a care in the world.

Manners, after all, maketh man, and this particular man cannot remember ever being happier.

***************************************

FIN

***************************************

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This ship is going to spiral out of control, I can tell that already ;) So yeah, my Harry and Eggsy are 50 and 24ish respectfully. I read on tumblr that someone said Eggsy is 19 (and used that as an argument against the ship), and perhaps he is in the comics, but there’s no way he’s that young in the movie. Taron Egerton is 25 and the little boy playing his younger self was 7, and then when you add 17 years that makes him 24ish in the movies. For Harry I took 4 years off Mr. Firth’s age because I can, and so that’s the age dynamic in these fics. But yeah, um, fucking on a piano, because I haven’t abused that Pretty Woman reference enough yet ;) Oops. As always, enjoy, and comments feed the fickle muse :)


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